


Gotta Stay High

by IfIDiedYoungWouldYouNotice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mentions Mary, No Mary, No baby, Top John Watson, implied past relationship, love making, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfIDiedYoungWouldYouNotice/pseuds/IfIDiedYoungWouldYouNotice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is broken. So, is John. Sherlock needs some John. And John needs some Sherlock. Both want one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotta Stay High

He threw the needle onto the table as he laid back against the barley cleaned sofa. His head resting against the armrest, as his vision blurred and blended the scenery around him. Sherlock grunted as he felt another body slide onto the filthy couch with him, the stink of aftershave filling his nose. He may have been high, but even through the haze and fuzziness of it all he could deduce the stranger next to him. The stench filling his nose was a very expensive cologne, _A bit too much_ , he thought bitterly. Sherlock's head swayed back and forth, his inky black hair sticking to his forehead as he stared droopily at the man. He sat there the sound of music in beat with his heart, the dark lights of the club made his vision spin.

Sherlock was a regular at this place, isolating himself into a corner as he floated on the plush chair. He heard a small cough from beside him, his head slowly tilting to the man beside him. Sherlock tried to keep his eyes focused on the man next to him, dark brown hair, smooth white skin, dark clothes and glazed over green eyes, that seemed to be looking back at Sherlock. His cheekbones were prominent due to the dark shadows, which made his features stick out against his light skin.

"What's your poison?" The man asked, his voice cracked at bit on the last word, making Sherlock crack a smile.

"H." Sherlock simply replied, his voice seeming to be barely a whisper. A smile cracked over the pale mans face, his body shifting as he closed the wide gap between him and Sherlock on the sofa. Sherlock felt like he was floating as he rode out his high, his eyes closed, barely noticing other mans long fingers begun to rub his thigh. He didn't notice the feel of chewed lips hungrily caressing his skin, nor did he acknowledge the sound of his zipper being pulled down.

"Ah, so you're one of those types of people hm?" Sherlock droopily opened his eyes, his mind barely working as the man whispered into his neck.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He asked dryly, the nameless man scraping his teeth against Sherlock's pale skin. Trying to muffle a moan which erupted from his throat, Sherlock felt his pants begin to become a bit tight as the warm breathe nipped at his skin. He never hooked up inside of the club, but right now he couldn't care less, he was floating in his skin. The fuzzy haze of warmth surrounding his body as the other man began to fumble with Sherlock's cock. Sherlock finally moaned out loud, his skin on fire as the man slowly massaged his cock, his thumb rubbing over the slit of the tip, smearing the small bead of pre-come that was there. He was quivering underneath his palm, he began to feel his orgasm approach as he clung to the man's coat. He rocked his hips up into the mans hand, fucking the smooth skin as he drew in a ragged breath.

"Come for me," he heard whispered into his ear, making Sherlock throw his head back, his eyes screw shut, and his mouth formed an 'o' shape, his cum dirtying the hand of the nameless man. His chest was heaving as the other man shifted closer, gently kissing his neck. "The party has just begun," he said in a deep tone. Sherlock felt him rub against his leg, the feel of his hard cock pushing against him. Sherlock was ready to help the junkie, his hand slowly snaking to release his member, but he stopped when the other man tried to kiss Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock didn't kiss other men. He gave and took handjobs, had sex in the dirty stalls of this place, even gave a few blowjobs when it got boring. But he never kissed. The only one he kissed was John.

Images of John appeared. John gently caressing his face, bringing their lips together in a chaste kiss, which lead to a kiss that had Sherlock trembling underneath him. The feel of each other's skin calming one another as they clawed desperately at the clothing between them, the need for warm flesh becoming a necessity. Sherlock shook his head at the memories, the space around him becoming too much for him. The loud music, the flashes of multi colored light lighting up the dance floor, the sudden stink of cologne becoming too strong it made his head hurt. Sherlock slowly put himself back into his pants, feeling the stare of the nameless man on him.

"Where are you going love?" He heard him ask, his icy blue eyes flicking to him in a simple stare.

"I'm not your love," he replied," and I'm leaving. Obviously." He said, slowly getting up from the suddenly uncomfortable seat.  He was coming down from his high, his mind coming out from its blurry haze. Yet his body was still jelly from the orgasm he just had. Before the nameless man could get in another word, Sherlock was already weaving around the crowd, his dark coat flowing behind him in a mass of humans. When he made it outside he exhaled sharply, his breath coming out it a white puff in front of him. He pulled his collar up as he began to walk away from the loud music which was thumping through the walls of the club, he wanted to forget what had happened in the club. The feel of warm skin still lingering on his body made him want to throw up in disgust.

 _I'm going to need the longest shower ever_ , he thought bitterly. He skulked his way back to his home on Baker Street, noticing the door knocker straightened out. He scrunched up his face in annoyance, knowing exactly who had done it, he pulled at it to where it was now slanting left vertically, before he made his way inside, mumbling to himself how annoying Mycroft was. As he flopped down onto his silk sheeted plush bed, he thought back to the man with brown hair and light green eyes, the memory of him as clear as a picture. Sherlock ran a hand over his face, long slender fingers tangling through his dark curls. He sighed heavily, his breath coming out slow and loud. He knew getting high was a bad idea, but in the back of his head he knew it was the only way to forget the smiling face of the man he loved. The man who made him whole, who painted his world with colors that seemed to be missing, making everything more vivid and brighter.

Sherlock felt his eyes sting at the memory of John, _forget that man it's doing you no good to remember him._ He rolled over on his bed, kicking his shoes off and wrapping his legs under his arms, curling into a ball. Part of Sherlock wanted things to be the way they used to be, him and John running about chasing criminals, having take out for a third night, all the while a comfortable silence settling over them. He missed what they had, his chest hurting at the thought; all that John had left was a hole in Sherlock’s chest, and his scent lingering on the small chair he sat on when he lived here (which was now up in John’s old room along with other items he left behind when he moved away). The thing Sherlock hated more than anything was a deafening silence, to which he must bear the weight of now since the smaller man was no longer around. He was with his wife, a noble woman who deserved the company of John; and their unborn child, to which Sherlock knew would be the most beautiful child on this planet. Yet, that was because its father was John Watson, the love of his life; the man he knew he could never get back from someone else.

Sherlock sighed in frustration, shutting his eyes tightly. John was the cause of why Sherlock couldn’t stay in the sex club any longer, and why he couldn’t find peace in this ridiculously large flat. “It’s all his fault,” he muttered bitterly,” why did he have to be _so perfect_?” He asked the air, knowing no one would ever be able to answer such a question, nor will anyone ever, which made his head hurt. Within an hour, Sherlock finally passed out, his head buried in his pillows while he dreamed of John smiling at him all love sick, giving Sherlock a nightmare.

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

He went back to the club the next night, resulting in him having sex in the alleyway, his head in the clouds as an older gentleman bent him over the dumpster, his expensive suit becoming dirty with sweat and come.

He went home filthy; peeling off the dirty suit he sat in the shower, allowing the warm water to hit his back. He didn’t want to get out, the feel of the water relaxing him as he stared blankly at the water pooling under him.

He heard a chime come from his phone, barely missing it, the sound of water hitting skin drowning out all noises. But he didn’t miss this one, and he knew exactly who was messaging him. An image of John’s smile flashed behind his eyelids as he nestled his head into his knees

 _Tired of his married life already?_ Sherlock thought blandly, his mind racing with thoughts of what John texted him. He decided to stay in the shower till the water turned cold, drawing out the fact that he would have to check his phone eventually.

The water turned cold 10 minutes later.

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

****It was dark when Sherlock sat at the a small booth in Angelo’s, the restaurant him and John decided to meet up at, after Sherlock pounced out of the cold shower like a cat. He stared out of the big window, looking around for John’s familiar face. And was relieved when he saw him, glancing at his watch as John slid into the seat right in front of him.

He was late by 5 minutes, making Sherlock give him hell for it.

“5 minutes John,” Sherlock began, but got cut off by the army doctor who raised up a hand.

“I know Sherlock, I had to make a quick phone call before I came inside.” He defended, making Sherlock roll his eyes in annoyance.  He just chuckled, which earned him a squinted stare from the detective, his icy blue eyes running over the smile lines in John’s face. He seemed tired, _the return of his nightmares_ ; his hair was grayer than Sherlock remembered, _he is stressed out at home and work_. As Sherlock deduced John’s appearance he couldn’t help but notice John wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, raising red flags.

 _Unhappily married. Getting a divorce. Miscarriage_.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he realized it, the facts staring at him straight in the face. He just ignored it, not wanting to acknowledge the things that were off about him. Sherlock slowly closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and then exhaled heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, slowly opening his eyes to meet John’s sad ones. A small smile spread sadly over John’s face, nodding his head slightly.

“I knew you’d find out with one look, and no need to apologize. You didn’t do anything.” John sounded tired, his face slowly dropping into a frown, deep creases showing on his face. They sat there in silence, which was broken by a waiter asking for their orders. Sherlock didn’t feel like eating, and John just asked for more water, to which Sherlock noted that John wasn’t eating much because of stress and loss. Lost a total of 7 pounds.

“So,” John began, “what gave me away? My missing ring? Or was it the lint on my jumper?” Sherlock brought his hands together under his chin in a praying motion, quietly staring at John as he slowly sat up straighter preparing for Sherlock’s criticism. Sherlock felt his mouth go dry as he slowly began to speak.

"You usually have neater hair." He said, making John blink a few times before continuing, " and you've been wearing that jumper since three days ago, most likely because you've been sleeping at work rather at home. There is something wrong with going home, something that you're ashamed of. Which leads me to believe it's your wife, whom you have yet to trust since after you found out who she really was, leading you to resent her presence. The only reason you haven't left was because of the baby, and going by your missing ring, you're getting a divorce," Sherlock lowered his voice, "meaning..."

He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for your loss."

He knew John was going to say 'don't say you're sorry, cause you're not' or 'it happens to us all eventually', yet he was very wrong, because that's not what John said.

"I'm relieved actually," he said while bringing the glass of water to his lips, slowly drinking. Now it was Sherlock's turn to blink, he was relieved? His face made John laugh, when he was done drinking his fill he set the glass back down.

"I'm relieved because the baby would have been living in a terrible household. I thought I loved her...But then you came back... And for a while I was lost with what I wanted, and had come to the decision that if I were to be a father, I would fake my feelings as best as I could. But then, everything got messed up when the baby decided to wrap it's neck around the umbilical cord, and strangle itself.." John had tears in his eyes, bitter tears, making Sherlock want to reach over the table and hug him.

But he stopped himself, because he knew John would push him away, because John was a soldier with pride. A man who though he could go against the world and take what everyone gives him, he wanted to prove his worth to people, and it made Sherlock annoyed. Because Sherlock knew what type of man he was, and he decided that John was the best man ever. No other human being could be as amazing as John, as perfectly broken as John.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Sherlock spoke, his deep baritone voice a beacon of him trying to communicate with John.

"I left your room alone, everything is where you left it when you moved out 5 months ago." His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and he felt his palms get clammy as he spoke. He was nervous, and Sherlock Holmes was never nervous, it only happened when John was around.

"Has it really been 5 months?" John sounded astonished, his eyes wide with amusement. "Seems like longer if you ask me," he muttered under his breath, a smile spread across Sherlock's face.

"If you have no place to go, you're always welcome to move back in," he paused momentarily, "I mean...If you want to that is."

Now it was John's turn to smile, making Sherlock inhale sharply at the one expression he missed. He couldn't help but flush at John's smile, a warm feeling spread inside his chest, making him feel alive. He knew he missed seeming that smile around the flat, when he would wake up beside the sleeping man, and kiss him till John was scarlet red. He knew he missed all of John's expressions, no, just John in general. He missed _John Watson_.

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

Sherlock put John's chair back to its spot in the sitting room, a small smile on his face as he placed it down on the wooden floor.

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

John moved back into the flat the next day, bringing only a suitcase and a laptop bag. A wide smile spread across his face as he made his way up to his old room, leaving Sherlock alone in the sitting room in his pajamas and robe,his violin tucked underneath his chin as he watched John go up the stairs.

He didn't come down from his room all day and night, Sherlock checked on him once to see if he was alive still, and found him curled under his blankets. His suitcase was missing and clothes were already neatly folded in his dressers and hung up in the closet, like he never left.

Before he backed out of the room he heard a small sniffle come from under the blankets, his chest feeling tight at the realization of what John was doing. Sherlock didn't like John crying, the urge to crawl under the blankets with him and hold him tight while he sobbed into his chest was very strong, but he pushed it aside. He had to give John space, it's what he needed right now, not a warm body to hold him.

 _Goodnight John_ , he thought to himself slowly closing the door. Sherlock stayed up all night he playing an assortment of pieces to which he knew John enjoyed, from Mozart, and Bach, to Paganini. Sherlock placed his violin down with the bow when he saw the sun rise over the buildings of London, rays of light streaming through the curtains.

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

It has been a month since John moved back.  And things have seemed relatively the same, even Sherlocks obnoxious complaining seemed to be a normal thing that was missing.

"Bored!" Sherlock yelled out his head burying his head into a pillow on the couch, as he caught John off guard as he typed slowly on his laptop, making him misspell 'extravagant'. John smiled slowly, looking up from his keyboard to meet the eyes of the mad man. John was still smiling as Sherlock squinted his eyes at him, his lips in  a hard line on his face.

"You're on a case right now." John said, trying to hide the amusement he was showing. To which Sherlock couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at, _he's glad I'm bored?_

"John, I solved the case the minute that woman walked into this flat. She's a serial adulterer, and the fact that she came to worlds most observant person to help find her husband, who ' _was abducted by aliens_!'," he imitated her squeaky voice while making some gesture of his hands, "just proved to me that she doesn't know that he found out, and is now spending all of their trust fund in some private island near Morocco!"

As Sherlock fumed John couldn't help but smile at the detective, he just _smiled_ all the time, at everything that Sherlock did. Be it exploding experiments or shooting at the wall, John always smiled around Sherlock, and of course the man noticed.

It irritated Sherlock that John would smile at him, _all the time_ , no matter what he did. If he were to set the house on fire, he was sure John would smile at him and not care that all their things had burned to ash, and it made Sherlock's skin crawl. John had changed since he moved back, and Sherlock wasn't liking it so much. Granted he did not like being scolded when he blew things up, or when he placed severed heads into the fridge, but he missed how John would complain about everything that put their lives in jeopardy.

He missed how John _used_ to care.

~~**OOOooooooOOO** ~~

"Oh for gods sake John!" Sherlock hissed as the smaller man pinned his arm down, his eyes scanning the pale skin that was scarred with needle marks. Sherlock tried to push the doctor off, but John pinned his shoulder down with his knee as he brought Sherlock's long arm closer to his eye, inspecting the needle marks. His grip was tight on Sherlock, calloused hands making his skin itch.

"You're on drugs again?" John asked, his eyes not leaving Sherlock's arm. His voice was low and calm making Sherlock swallow hard, the last time John was this calm they ended up on the floor, John's hands trying to strangle Sherlock.

"Not for a while, obviously," Sherlock replied in a whisper, afraid his attitude will surely gift him with a black eye.

" _Why?_!" John nearly shouted, his grip loosening on Sherlock as he slowly got up from the floor. The air was thick with tension as Sherlock rose from the cold ground, John was staring at his feet, not meeting Sherlock's gaze.

"You weren't supposed to find out." Sherlock simply said, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding in as he spoke. But he knew this was going to happen, because he wanted John to see what a monster he was. He wanted to get a reaction out of him, anything, any reaction that showed Sherlock the real John. The old John. His John.

And showing him his scarred arms was the only way to awaken the 'sleeping beast' in John, and oh how Sherlock missed it. He tried to hide his smirk by turning his head away as John breathed heavily through his nose, anger clearly written on his face as he clenched his fists that hung by his sides.

Sherlock knew the signs that John was about to blow up at him, all he needed to do left was lick his lips in anger, and then he'd be yelling at him in a flash of anger.

But once again, he was dead _wrong_.

Instead John slowly lifted his head staring Sherlock in the eyes _, angry, sad, disappointed_ , he deduced to himself. But one made his eyes widen, John's eyes were dilated, dark blue irises being consumed by black pupil.

 _Arousal_. John was turned on about something that had to do with Sherlock, _but what?_ He wasn't suppose to be aroused! He was supposed to be angry! And punch him! But instead, John calmly reached up, caressing Sherlock's cheek, his other hand slowly making its way into Sherlock's long curls, slowly bringing him down to meet his lips.

That's when John felt Sherlock stiffen under him as they shared a small kiss. When they parted Sherlock's eyes were wide, his face was flushed, lips parted in confusion.

"I-I don't understand," he stammered his eyes searching John's frantically. A smile spread across John's face as he slowly shook his head.

"You know, for an apparent genius, you are really slow sometimes." Sherlock glared at John as he laughed at him, gripping his left arm and sliding his right hand into John's roughly, swiftly bending down to clash his lips against John's. He made this ' _oomf_ ' sound as Sherlock kissed him when he didn't expect it to happen, their lips instantly moving together in unison.

A grumble came from John's throat as Sherlock slipped his tongue over John's lips, one of his arms wrapping around John's waist as he brought them closer together. He ran his other hand over John's back and up to run his fingers in John's short dark blonde hair, lightly tugging on a handful of it. John gasped as Sherlock tugged on his hair, allowing Sherlock to slip his tongue into John's mouth.

They stood there in the sitting room, snogging like teenagers, and neither were wanting to stop. But John couldn't ignore the erection straining in his pants, the feel of Sherlock's pressing against his thigh, making him feel a bit possessive. Only he was allowed to make Sherlock excited, have him wet, and wanting, begging him to take him. It was all for John, and no one else.

He couldn't take waiting anymore, he had to get inside of Sherlock, he needed it. The longing feeling to have warmth around his straining erection was powerful, and he decided to skip foreplay.

"Sherlock," he growled, moving his lips to the pale neck of the detective, kissing and nipping the skin till it was becoming a bright red hickey. He pulled away from Sherlock momentarily, both of them panting heavily, eyes glazed over with lust.

"Bedroom," Sherlock tried to say without panting, but failed miserably at it. His lips were swollen red and his cheeks were a shade darker, and that's when John felt himself swallow shallowly.

This wasn't the first time they've had sex, in fact, he knew that if they were to lay together now, he'd surely want to do it again. But, he was afraid. He had lost Sherlock once, and the man was back on drugs again. He couldn't just ignore that, but for some odd reason it made him glad. He was _happy_ Sherlock was on drugs, and it made him sick. He was happy Sherlock was _suffering_ as much as he was, and it made him glad that Sherlock was as broken as him.

John felt a hand move over his own, the fingers calloused from playing a beautiful instrument constantly, and the skin cool as ice. John loved it. Firmly grabbing Sherlock's hand he tugged him through the doorway, and up the stairs into his room.

After what seemed like an excruciatingly long time to peel off each other's clothes while trying to climb the seemingly endless set of stairs, they finally made it on top of John's bed, Sherlock underneath John's body. The only clothing separating them was their underwear, which Sherlock was already shedding, the dark silky fabric sliding over the pale milky skin of a man. John shuddered as Sherlock exposed himself, his cock long, black curly hair around the base, and a pink tip which was leaking pre come.

"You're so _fucking_ beautiful." John breathed as he looked down at the man underneath him, moving his hand and brushing away stray hairs that were sticking to Sherlock's forehead.

"John, you don't need to do that since its going to get messed up anyways." Sherlock huffed, making John chuckle. He gently stroked Sherlock's chin with his thumb, all while the other man stared at him through eyelashes. John's smile faded slowly, and his lips formed into a hard line.

"Please love, stay away from the drugs. I'm here for you, so...You won't need them anymore." He said softly, his tongue licking his lips, Sherlock's pale blue eyes following the action. It made John shudder, making his heart pound in his chest, so hard he thought Sherlock could hear it. John brought his lips to Sherlock's pale skin, making a trail of kisses run down to his pelvic area, John slowly running his tongue around the mans naval. He teased him, shallow breaths coming out of Sherlock's parted lips.

John slid calm and careful fingers down Sherlock's body, remembering the feel of this man beneath him. There was something nagging in the back of John's mind, his thoughts clouded by the scent of need, and sweat, hypnotizing moans filling the silence. Yet, they weren't loud enough to block out the question which was at the tip of John's tongue. He didn't want to ruin the movement, so he came up with an idea.

"John," Sherlock moaned out, John's fingers wrapping themselves around Sherlock's length, slowly smearing the pre come around the tip, using it as a lubricant for friction. Slowly pumping him, john placed his other hand on Sherlock's hip, keeping him from bucking up and fucking John's hand. His kisses making their way back up to Sherlock's lips as John punched up Sherlock's legs over his shoulders, the motion making Sherlock arch his back against the mattress.

He reached blindly for the sheets, the sensation of John's hand wrapped around his length making his eyes screw shut as he shuddered for air. Oh how he missed this. John over him, his lips leaving burning marks on his skin, the air full of the smell of sex.

Sherlock gasped loudly as he felt John slowly press against his hole with his clothed dick, the hardness of it making him go dizzy. John wanted desperately to whip it out and just plunge into the flesh below him, but he had to prepare Sherlock first. Releasing Sherlock's weeping member, he used the sticky substance on his hand to stretch Sherlock out. Pressing his fingers into the madman under him.

Sherlock swore loudly at the sudden pleasure as John instantly began to brush against the sweet spot within his body, making his arms reach out and cling to John’s shoulders, hanging on as the doctor fingered him senseless.

“Bet this hasn't been used in a while?” John asked huskily, but Sherlock was in too much of a sex filled haze to lie, or much less to even think of a lie.

“No,” he breathed,” not for a few weeks.” Sherlock found himself meeting John’s thrusts of his fingers, even when John stopped. John swallowed, a bit taken aback at what Sherlock had said. He knew it would have been a miracle if Sherlock had ‘saved’ himself for John, but John knew he was being selfish. He had moved on, had sex with Mary, and was going to have a baby. John knew that when Sherlock came back, he was probably hoping to find John waiting for him, _good old John_.

It frustrated John, so much, it hurt him to think about it. Another man touching the skin of the most beautiful creature on this planet, another man kissing him tenderly. Hell, just the thought of someone else breathing near Sherlock made his skin crawl. He was so into thought he barely heard Sherlock whimper, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“John, i-i’m about to come,” Sherlock sighed, making John’s eyes widen at the sight in front of him. A wrecked Sherlock Holmes pushing against his fingers, swallowing him whole, sweating, panting, and asking for more. It made his mouth go dry.

He quickly removed his fingers from the writhing mess of a man beneath him, and quickly reached into the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a clear bottle of lube, and popping it open as he slowly slid down his navy blue boxers. His thick member rose up and strained against his stomach, leaking with pre come. He smeared a handful of the cold liquid onto his hand and rubbed it against his cock, the cold sensation giving him a shiver down his spine.

Bringing their lips together in a desperate kiss, John positioned himself, pushing slowly into Sherlock. Both of them moaned in unison, Sherlock's grip on John's shoulder tightened. Before anything could be done or said, John quickly pulled out to the tip, and then thrusted back in with precision. Hitting Sherlock's sweet spot making him see stars and making his moans stutter.

"O-oh God, J-john." Sherlock moaned, each thrust drew out a new sound from the madman, making John grin against his collarbone. He wanted to hear more beautiful sounds come from the lips of the detective, so he thrusted harder and harder, the headboard hit against the wall. The slapping sounds of skin against skin, the thump of the headboard, and the pants of their breaths intoxicated both of them.

" _Mine_ ," John whispered, his thrusts becoming faster and shorter, his breathing becoming hard. He was close to coming, so close. He reached down between their sweating bodies, his nimble fingers working the shaft and tip of Sherlock's erection. A few pumps and thrusts later and Sherlock was coming hard, white spurts streaking their sweat covered chests. John's name escaping from his lips in chants, the sweet euphoria of his orgasm hitting an all new high as he felt John begin to come in him.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock!" John whispered harshly, his voice husky and deep, making Sherlock's hair rise on his body. They both felt like jelly, John's softening cock slid out of Sherlock's body, both moaning at the sensation. Sherlock's hand lingered on John's shoulder as he laid down beside him, both of them breathing hard. The smell of sex lingered in the air, making a smile spread across John's face, and soon he was laughing uncontrollably at the madness of their relationship. John threw a blanket over their naked bodies, both of them settling into a warm embrace of legs and arms, John still chuckling.

He felt the eyes of Sherlock on him, those calculating and confused blue eyes. After a few moments he hadn't realized his laughter had become a strained crying noise until he felt the tears start slowly falling down his face, and Sherlock suddenly brought John closer to him, John softly crying into his chest.

“John?” Sherlock whispered quietly after a while of silence, John no longer crying, except the occasional sniffling. “You okay?” He heard Sherlock ask awkwardly, making him chuckle soundlessly.

“Yes, i’m fine. I don’t know what happened..” But, of course he was lying. Both knew that wasn't true, but Sherlock nor John said anything else about it, even though it bugged Sherlock beyond belief. It wasn't until John thought Sherlock was asleep, the after effects of sex catching up with him, and the silence which hung over both of them made it impossible to not pass out. Yet, John couldn't sleep, his thoughts were jumbled, and he needed to express them somehow, so he decided to tell Sherlock...When he wasn't awake. When he heard the slow breaths, and felt the hotness of his breath on the top of his head, he began to speak slowly.

“I..I was glad,” John slowly shut his eyes,” when you offered me a place to stay. I was _extremely_ happy.” He was quiet, thinking, and listening to Sherlock breathe. “Yet, I always thought that i’d wake up in my old bed, with the woman I didn't love, with a baby that never died. _I was afraid_. That you were still dead, Sherlock… I was afraid that you had still fallen from the top of St. Barts, and that your blood had stained the sidewalk. I was _terrified_ ,” he felt tears sting his eyes,” that you had left me alone.” He sniffled a bit, but continued to speak. “I knew the minute I laid my eyes on you in that restaurant, with that ridiculous disguise, that the hope died in your eyes. The way you looked at Mary, I could see the hurt, yet you still tried your hardest to make things the way they were. I was a fool. An utter fool for thinking you had actually died, but I saw you jump. I _saw_ the blood...So _much_ blood.”

He sighed, his thoughts no longer making sense. He no longer knew what he was trying to say to the sleeping silhouette next to him, so he just said whatever came to his mind.

“I missed this. Whatever that may be. Silly, isn't it?”

“I was glad I wasn't the only miserable person in this relationship.”

“I used to watch Dr. Who when you were gone, and tried to deduce the silly plot the way you did. But it never felt right.”

“When I got really lonely, I would reread my blog, and smile at all the good times we had.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed the experiments you did, the chaos of everything was normal for me.”

“I _missed_ you.”

“Sherlock,” John wrapped his arm around the slender waist, bringing them impossibly closer together,” _I missed you_.”

~~**OOOoooooOOO** ~~

He passed out, exhausted from all the mindless talking, and confessing. And Sherlock was glad John didn't notice he was awake, because that would have been embarrassing. He didn't know if he should feel happy of sad for the man beside him, and it made his head hurt.

_I missed you_

It kept replaying in his mind, those words, those beautiful words. Like music to his ears, a sad melancholy melody which replayed in his mind when he repeated those words. Oh how he missed this broken man, and their way too complicated relationship. Yet, he loved it all, all the cracks and duct tape it took to put it back together. Since normal was overrated and boring.

“I've missed you too, John Watson.” He whispered, kissing the dirty blonde hair of the sleeping beauty beside him. How he loved the feel of soft hair against his skin, and how he longed to awake the exhausted man just to make love once more. How he needed it, but knew he couldn't, since a sleeping John was too adorable to disturb. So, instead he stared. Even though it was very dark, moonlight seemed to stream through a nearby window, outlining the naked body beside him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Sherlock whispered, planting another kiss atop John’s head. He made himself comfortable next to John, and felt John tug him closer. He tried not to smile, but couldn't help himself.

_Oh how he loved this broken relationship held together by duct tape and glue._


End file.
